


Six Impossible Things

by MrsHamill



Series: Grandmother Raven: The Path of a Shaman [9]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-10
Updated: 2001-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grandmother meets several someones, Blair loses it, and Jim fixes a water heater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Impossible Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of vignettes encompassing the six episodes between SenTooPartTwo and TSbyBS. I have followed the originally scheduled order of episodes, rather than the airing order, which, to me, makes a great deal more sense. It does help to have seen the episodes here. Thanks again to WoD, Christi and especially Fox, for braving RL for me, and yes, dear, we'll probably always have the Less Filling/Tastes Great argument. [g]

_"There is no use in trying," said Alice; "one can't believe impossible things."_  
  
 _"I dare say you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."_  
  
          -- Lewis Carroll, _Alice's Adventures Through the Looking Glass_  
  


* * *

**Four Point Shot**

Jim looked up from signing the last of his reports as the elevator bell dinged. He grinned at Blair, who was still bent over the computer keyboard, and hit him in the head with an eraser. "Our guests are here, Chief," he said when Blair looked up.

Blair turned his head and grinned when he caught sight of Grandmother and Violet exiting the elevator, making their way towards the door to Major Crime. Hopping to his feet, he led Jim to the entrance of the bullpen and both greeted the two ladies with hugs. From the corner of his eye, Jim saw Rafe and H do classic double takes, straighten their clothes, and casually meander over for introductions.

But Simon beat them to it. Emerging from his office like a tornado with Darryl and a police stenographer in tow, he bellowed across the bullpen. "Ellison! Sandburg! Do you have those reports for me? Darryl's done here." Seeing the visitors, he instantly backpedaled, but Jim waved him over with a grin.

"My end is all done, Captain," Jim said, "and I think Sandburg is just about done too. Grandmother, this is that grouchy old bear I've warned you about... Simon, I'd like you to meet Vi Williams and her great-grand-niece, Violet Halperin. Violet, this is Captain Banks, my boss."

Simon extended his hand while shooting Jim a glare. "Telling tales out of school again, Detective? Nice to meet you, ma'am." The penny almost visibly dropped as Simon shook her hand. "'Grandmother'? Jim, is there something you're not telling me?"

"A nickname," Grandmother Raven said calmly, assessing Simon. Having been on the other end of that contemplative stare himself, Jim was only too happy to foist it off on Simon. "I'm called Grandmother Raven at the CNARC, where I work."

"Ah," Simon said, nodding, "you're working at the Center?"

"Yes," Grandmother replied, cocking her head and smiling. "You sound as if you know it."

"I've been there with my son, Darryl, working on projects with him when he was younger. Lovely place." Looking around, as if to pull Darryl forward and introduce him, Simon frowned when he saw his son off to the side and frantically trying to get Blair's attention.

"Grandmother and I have been friends for years," Blair interjected smoothly. "She helped me on my Master's thesis, actually." Nodding, Blair allowed himself to be pulled aside by an insistent Darryl.

"Actually, between the two of us, we owe this lady a lot," Jim said, smiling at Grandmother. "Considering who's giving statements at the moment, I thought I'd invite her to come by and see where we work."

Simon grinned, then looked beyond them out into the hall. "Well then, Mrs. Williams, I'd say you have excellent timing." Coming down the hall, dwarfing everyone they met, were three of the Cascade Jaguars players involved in the hostage situation with Kincaid: Kenderson, Sloman and Orvelle Wright. As the players entered the room, Jim made introductions, not bothering to hide his grin over Grandmother's delight.

Orvelle Wright was his usual charming, outgoing self, and even Sloman, who had done a complete one-eighty in attitude since Jim had saved the day, was cordial. They chatted, signed autographs, and even presented free tickets. Jim backed away from the group and leaned on his desk, next to Blair. "Nice to be able to pull one over on her for a change, isn't it?" he said.

"You don't fool me, Ellison, you're just a big ol' softie. That was a good thought on your part," Blair replied. "Grandmother's been a fan for just years."

Not seeing Violet, Jim looked around and spotted her off to the side of the room, engrossed in conversation with Darryl Banks. "Darryl grabbed you pretty quick," he said, sotto-voce. "What did he want?"

Blair grinned ear-to-ear. "An introduction to Violet," Blair said. "Took one look at her and was smitten. He could barely get two words out at first." Watching the two younger people, he added, "Doesn't look like that's a problem any more."

Jim nodded, fighting back a grin. "Now, there's a match," he mused. "Let's see, there's only, what, a year between them?"

"Less. Violet's seventeen," Blair said. He folded his arms to match his partner and bumped his hip into Jim's. "You think we should tell Simon that Grandmother's a shaman and Violet -- his son's potential girlfriend -- is a shaman-in-training?"

Thinking about it for a split second, both men turned to each other simultaneously. "Naaaah," they said, grinning.

* * *

  
**The Real Deal**  
  
"Jim, man," Blair said tentatively, "I know you're pissed at the guy -- hell, I am too a bit. He put himself and others into danger. But he's been a help on this case. You have to admit that."  
  
Jim's jaw was jumping, but when he turned to Blair, his expression was more rueful than pissed. "Okay, okay, yeah, he's been a help... a pain in the ass, but a help nonetheless. But he's not staying with us."  
  
"Damn. You heard me." Despite his words, Blair grinned cheekily. "Then you heard the rest of it. The guy could be in trouble here, Jim."  
  
"If so, it's his own damn fault." Jim frowned at Blair. "Come on, Chief, you can't really think that staying with us is a viable solution... I'm liable to kill him before morning!"  
  
"No you wouldn't," Blair said, in his best 'oh, please' voice. He could tell Jim had given in. "He can have my room, I'll take the sofa. Tomorrow, if he still needs it, we can send him to a proper safe house."  
  
Jim sighed. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" he asked no one in particular. Blair just laughed and hauled him back to the small group still sitting on the porch steps.  
  
"Listen, Vince," Blair began, sitting down next to the older man, "you're going to come home with Jim and me tonight. No, no, no objections," he said, raising his hands to forestall Vince's interruption. "If you still need protection after tonight, we'll move you to a proper safe house. But there's no time tonight, and we're worried you could be a target."  
  
Vince Deal grimaced as he looked between Blair and Jim. "I don't like being a burden," he said sourly. "I'm sure I can take care of myself. I've been on my own now for years."  
  
"You won't be a burden, Vince," Jim said, looking suddenly weary of the whole mess. "We've got the room. Come on -- the sooner we get started, the sooner we can hit the sack."  
  
All the way to his hole-in-the-wall apartment, Deal grumbled. He grumbled while Jim checked out the place and while Blair helped him pack a few essentials. But by the time they reached the loft and locked it up, he had mercifully fallen silent, and Blair began to breathe a bit easier. Jim's jaw muscle slowly relaxed as he began to realize a good night's sleep might actually be possible. And, as Jim relaxed, so did Blair.  
  
They got Deal into the bathroom while Blair hustled into his bedroom and stripped the sheets off his futon. Jim came in with clean sheets, and they switched. "Could you dump those on the sofa for me, man?" Blair mumbled, snapping the fitted bottom sheet over the mattress.  
  
Jim dumped the old sheets on the floor and helped Blair. "No, don't worry about it, Chief," he said, smoothing the sheet out. "You don't have to take the couch. Just come upstairs."  
  
Blair frowned at him. "Are you sure..." he started to say, but was cut off by Deal emerging from the bathroom. With a brief smile, Jim took his place, and Blair was left to finish tidying up for their guest and getting himself clean clothes. By the time Blair came out of the bathroom himself, the loft was dark except for a light in his room and one upstairs.  
  
With some misgivings, Blair climbed up to the loft, clutching his clothes for the morning. Jim was sitting on the side of the bed, adjusting the alarm clock. His gun was sitting on the bedspread next to him. "Hop in, Chief," he said, distracted.  
  
When Blair hesitated, Jim looked up at him. "Are you sure about this, Jim?" Blair asked, feeling unaccountably nervous.  
  
"Sandburg," Jim said, "there's no reason for you to sleep on that lumpy couch. Which I should replace anyway. You've had a rough couple of days. Just get in here and go to sleep. It's not like we haven't shared a bed before."  
  
"Yeah, but there were no witnesses then," Blair hissed, frustrated. "Vince is right downstairs! What if he says something?"  
  
"So? Since when have I cared about what someone says... or when have you?" Jim sounded just as irritated. "All I want is a good night's sleep, Chief. Come on."  
  
Still reluctant, Blair dropped his bundle on the floor in the corner, then climbed under the sinfully soft sheets. Jim stuck his gun under the pillows and lay down next to him, clicking off the light. "Relax, Chief," he grumbled, obviously picking up on Blair's trepidation.  
  
"How can I relax when it's my turn to do laundry and I'm gonna have to get that damn gun oil out of your pillowcases again?" Blair groused, tossing and turning, finally coming to rest on his side facing Jim. Who snorted at his words, then rolled over to face him.  
  
"Does it really bother you that much?" Jim asked, curiosity warring with sleepiness in his voice.  
  
Blair sighed. "No, I guess not, but the rumor-mill was just dying down again. I suppose it would start up again even with no help from Vince, though."  
  
"It's the nature of humans to gossip, Chief," Jim said. Absently, he reached out and tucked one curl behind Blair's ear. "You of all people should know that."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Blair said, "It just seems funny to me that it doesn't bother you as much. You're the one more affected; you're the one who stands to be hurt most by that brush."  
  
"And you're not affected?" Jim asked, sounding a bit surprised. "Being called 'Ellison's bum-boy' doesn't bother you?" he teased lightly.  
  
"Oh please," Blair chuckled. "I've been called worse."  
  
"It really doesn't bother me, Chief," Jim said after a short silence. "People are people. I know who I am, what someone says or thinks about me can't hurt me. Besides, calling me gay could be construed to be a compliment."  
  
That brought Blair up short. "Huh?" he said, frowning.  
  
"A couple of the nicest, most decent human beings I know are gay," Jim clarified. "They help run a half-way house in Snohomish. I met them when I worked in vice; we've kept in touch sporadically over the years. Gary's a doctor, and Ed works with computers." Blair blinked, trying to analyze his astonishment over this revelation. "They've been together for almost twenty-five years, and between the two of them have done more good work for their community than any ten churches combined. If someone wants to equate me with them, well, actually I'd be flattered."  
  
"Huh." Blair flopped onto his back. "Well. I'll be damned, Ellison. You just keep surprising me."  
  
"You know me better than anyone else in the world, Blair," Jim said, and Blair turned his head to look at the dim, dark shape next to him. "You should know by now I'm not into labels. And I don't give a damn about what anyone thinks. I know who I love, and that's not going to change at the words of some prejudiced, homophobic fuck."  
  
Remembering driving through the night with Simon to Clayton Falls, and remembering further his surprise at how easily Jim said "I love you" to both him and Simon, Blair blushed slightly. "And, uh, you love me. And Simon too," he hastily added.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
For some reason, the softly voiced affirmative sent shivers running down Blair's spine. "I -- uh, you know, I love you too," he managed to get out.  
  
"I know," Jim whispered. "Go to sleep, Sandburg. We've got a busy day tomorrow."  
  
Smiling, Blair snuggled into the warmth and scent of his friend and drifted off to sleep. He wasn't very surprised in the morning to find they had curled up around one another again, during the night. Neither mentioned it to the other, just smiled and started their day.  
  
After all, it didn't really mean anything. Anything at all.  
  


* * *

  
**Dead End on Blank Street**  
  
"Going out again?" Blair asked, struggling for normalcy in his tone. Jim had come downstairs wearing a fresh pair of chinos and a dark blue polo shirt, topped by a sport coat.  
  
Having the grace to look a little guilty, Jim nodded. "Yeah, I'm, uh, going to meet Veronica. We're going to have dinner." He fiddled with the lapel on his shirt. "I, um, I don't think I'll be back again tonight."  
  
Hiding a sinking feeling in his gut, Blair merely nodded, pointedly not making eye contact. "I probably won't be here when you get back then," he said levelly. "Grandmother and I are going up into the mountains, first thing tomorrow."  
  
Jim froze. From his spot at the kitchen table, Blair could hear him inhale. "How long will you be gone?" he asked quietly.  
  
"I don't know," Blair said, voice equally soft. "At least a week, I think. I get to beat myself black and blue and starve myself in a sweat lodge. I'm really looking forward to it. Not."  
  
Ignoring the sarcasm, Jim turned his head slightly. "I thought... we were going to do that together."  
  
"Yeah, well," Blair said, fighting without success to keep the bitterness from his voice, "I thought we were going to do a lot of things together. But I've got the time now, and Grandmother's pretty adamant. So off I go. Maybe next time, huh, Jim?"  
  
"Blair, I'm sorry," Jim started, but Blair interrupted him.  
  
"I just don't trust her, okay, Jim?" he said, his frustration and anger finally getting the best of him. "I'm sorry, but I don't. I hate the thought that you might get hurt again. There's something about this whole situation that just stinks to high heaven." _And I hate like hell that you're sleeping with her!_ Blair yelled in the recesses of his mind.  
  
Jim looked down, apparently focusing on his hand, which was wrapped tightly around the doorknob. "I know," he whispered. "It's just that there's so much history there. I feel like I -- I owe her. And Alan."  
  
"You don't owe them anything, man," Blair said, desperate to break through the iceman his Sentinel had become. "I know you've got this guilt thing going on, but you have to get past that. Alan is _dead_. She's using you, Jim. I can just -- I can just feel it."  
  
Jim stood at the door, silent and slumped, for a long time, giving Blair hope that he had maybe changed his mind. Finally, with a swallow audible to Blair across the room, Jim straightened. He didn't look back at Blair, but said softly, "Have a good time with Grandmother." Opening the door, he left, closing it gently behind him.  
  
With a thump, Blair put his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands. He grabbed two big hanks of hair and pulled, sharply, hoping the pain would distract him from his urge to scream; to fling something heavy against the door; to weep pitifully. The memory of waking up in Jim's bed, with Jim curled around him, holding him so tenderly, was fresh and painful in his mind, even as he wondered just why the hell he was feeling so awful that his roommate -- his male roommate -- was sleeping with some damn bitch who was only going to break his heart and _fuck_ he was pissed.  
  
Breathe, just breathe, he urged himself, struggling to take deep, cleansing breaths. Jim's a big boy, he can fend for himself. You have no hold over him, you're not his daddy or his mommy. Just let it go.  
  
But he couldn't let it go.  
  


* * *

  
**Murder 101**  
  
Blair stepped from the elevator and walked into Major Crime feeling better than he had in weeks. Brad Ventriss was in jail, another case was wrapped up, Jim had finally recovered from That Bitch's manipulation of him, and all appeared to be right with the world -- at last. As he walked to Jim's desk, he heard Jim wrapping up a conversation on the phone.  
  
"Yeah, well, thanks, Pete. Give my best to your mom. Bye." Jim put the phone down and looked up at Blair, carefully examining the half-healed bruise on his face. "Hey. Hey, your face is looking better. How's your head?"  
  
Blair smiled at his friend, and in a sudden attack of honesty, confessed, "Well, my head realizes that just 'cause you're right, doesn't mean you always get what you want." Ruefully, he continued, "You can't get mad at anybody. You just got to play the game better than they do." Abandoning his thoughtful tone, Blair turned goofy. "How's that sound, Wally?" he asked.  
  
Jim laughed. "Well, that's pretty neat, Beav," he replied. "Yeah."  
  
Blair watched as Jim gathered up papers on his desk and neatly stacked them. "School was good?" Jim asked, shutting off his computer and standing.  
  
Feeling pretty smug, Blair said, "The principal and I worked things out." "Hey, that's pretty keen, Beav," Jim said, sounding pleased. "Well, Dad called. Said we've got a body down at Miller's Pond. We got to go meet up with Eddie and Lumpy." Jim grabbed his coat with one hand while tapping Blair's chin with his other.  
  
Blair returned the tap, grinning. "Is it just you and me again, Wally?" "You betcha." Jim came around his desk and made for the door of the bullpen, and Blair frowned. "Where you going?" Blair asked, following Jim to the elevator. "You know our suspect is Gus the fisherman..." Jim started, grinning maniacally at him.  
  
"Jim..." Blair said, rolling his eyes as he stabbed for the elevator.  
  
"Heh. No, we've got to go meet with Sneaks on a case," Jim admitted, holding the elevator door for his partner. "So, tell me what really happened with that bitch Edwards."  
  
Pushing the button for the parking garage, Blair bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. "It's like I said, man, you gotta play the game better than they do. Edwards was bound and determined to blame the whole fiasco on me... including the withdrawal of funds for the 'Ventriss Gymnasium and Fern Bar'... until I realized I had an ace in the hole."  
  
Jim looked at him curiously. "What?"  
  
Grinning too hard was rough on his face, but Blair couldn't stop. "Did you know," he drawled, "that Joshua Halperin, Violet's father and Grandmother Raven's grand-nephew, sits on the board of directors at Rainier University?"  
  
The slow, slightly feral grin that blossomed over Jim's face was wonderful for Blair to behold. "Grandmother heard all about this crap last night, during our session. After she blistered me for showing up in wet clothes--" Blair glared at Jim who raised his hands in defense and laughed-- "she wondered if she should call her grand-nephew Josh and complain about how the best teacher at Rainier could be treated in such a scandalous fashion."  
  
The elevator pinged and the two men walked off, heading for Jim's truck. "Scandalous, huh?" Jim said, rubbing his chin. "Yeah, that sounds about right."  
  
Blair punched Jim in the arm then walked around to the passenger side of the truck. "The _point_ , man," he said, waiting for Jim to unlock his door, "is that I played the game against her. Man, she was _seething_. Does my heart good, you know?"  
  
"I'll bet," Jim snorted, getting into the truck.  
  
"Of course, she tried her best," Blair said as he climbed in and buckled up. "For my 'many unexcused absences' I'm officially on 'probation'... whatever the hell that means. And Sidney has told me -- unofficially -- either I get the diss in or I'm dead. So I guess I'd better get writing." Blair looked out the window as Jim backed out of his space. "But still... it's nice to get some of my own back, you know?"  
  
"The woman's a barracuda, Chief," Jim said, exiting the garage. "Although, actually, that gives barracudas a bad name..."  
  
Laughter followed the truck down the street.  
  


* * *

  
**Most Wanted**  
  
"You ever think about having kids, Chief?" Jim asked. They had just left the stakeout and were finally -- finally! -- headed home. Blair had a nagging feeling in the back of his head that he'd forgotten something, but he couldn't think what.  
  
Cocking his head at Jim curiously, Blair said, "Well, yeah, every now and then. I mean, I'm almost thirty, and the old biological clock isn't limited to females, you know." Jim shrugged. After a minute, Blair continued, "What about you?"  
  
"Oh... I don't know," Jim said, merging into traffic. "I mean, Tyler is a cute kid--"  
  
"Tyler is an adorable kid," Blair interrupted, "and Lindsay ain't hard on the eyes either."  
  
"Well, yeah, whatever, and remember last week, when Martha brought in her new baby to show everyone?" Blair nodded. "Now, that's one cute baby. And I felt something... I guess, that protective instinct kind of thing. But one for myself... I don't know." He was silent for a moment while he steered through traffic. "I guess I just don't know if I'd make a good dad."  
  
Blair frowned. "Well," he said slowly, lifting his backpack to his lap and opening it, "you didn't really have a very good role model, did you."  
  
"And that's the point, Chief," Jim agreed. "My old man, he could have made the cover of dysfunctional family magazine. I wouldn't want to take a chance I'd be like that."  
  
"Oh... I think you're overreacting, Jim," Blair said, turning to face his friend. "Personally, I think you'd make a great father. You're smart, you're gentle and patient, and you know, it's possible that because of your own father you'd be even better, since you know what to avoid."  
  
Jim smiled and his ears turned pink; he was obviously pleased with Blair's words. "Well, I could always teach him how to shoot hoops," he mused, rubbing his chin.  
  
"Or her," Blair added. "Good women's b-ball is coming, you mark my words."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard you say that before," Jim laughed. "But you know, most of this is moot anyway. I doubt I'll get married again."  
  
Looking up from his rooting through the backpack, Blair was surprised. "Really?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, really," Jim replied. "I... I dunno. I think I'm just to set in my ways to change for another woman. I guess... I guess I'm just happy with how I am." Blair grinned lopsidedly at Jim, thinking about his words. "I think you'd make a good dad too, Blair," Jim added after a moment.  
  
"You do?" Blair felt unaccountably pleased at those words.  
  
"Yeah. I mean, the kid would never lack for a playmate his own age -- hey! Driving here!" Jim laughed, ducking away from Blair's fist.  
  
"You jerk," Blair said, chuckling. He started searching through his backpack again -- where were those damn things? -- then continued. "Well, I may not have had any dad for a role model, but I never lacked for love. I think I must have had it a lot better than Lindsay did."  
  
"It must be tough growing up with an old man on the most wanted list," Jim agreed.  
  
"Yeah, maybe I was lucky not knowing who my real father was," Blair said, still rooting around in his backpack. "I might not have liked what I found out. Speaking of not finding something... oh... "  
  
"What is it now?" Jim asked, his tone endlessly patient.  
  
"Well, I left my notes on the lecture I'm supposed to give tomorrow back at the stakeout."  
  
Jim tched at Blair. "That's too bad."  
  
"Jim, we've got to go back."  
  
Exasperated, Jim said, "Chief, can't it wait? It'll take twenty minutes just to get there."  
  
Trying not to whine, Blair settled for wheedling. "Well, I've got to do the lecture tomorrow morning..."  
  
"Of all the partners I get the nutty professor. Ah, what the heck. Maybe we can have some pizza when we get there." Blair smiled as Jim turned the truck around to head back.  
  


* * *

  
**The Waiting Room**  
  
Hot and sweaty, Jim struggled with a length of copper pipe that he _knew_ should fit but for some reason was fighting him. For the tenth time he reconsidered the wisdom of replacing Grandmother's hot water heater for her himself, and for the tenth time convinced himself that it was for the better. He could do it as well as any plumbing contractor and he'd be saving her lots of dough that she could ill-afford to spend -- and anyway, it was his day off.  
  
Swearing under his breath as the pipe refused -- again -- to fit into a t-joint, he heard a throaty laugh from another part of the half-finished basement. "If you threaten its family, will it work better?" Grandmother asked from her workbench.  
  
Jim chuckled. "No, but it'll make me feel better," he replied. Removing the piece altogether, he stepped back and raised his t-shirt to mop at the sweat on his forehead. A step behind him made him turn to see Violet approaching with a cold bottle of beer in her hand. "That better be for me," he growled, taking the seriousness from the words by grinning.  
  
Violet grinned back. "Oh, duh, like I'm going to drink a beer with Mr. All-America Cop in my house," she said, handing the cold bottle to him.  
  
He flicked some of the condensation from the bottle at her with his fingertips, making her laugh as she walked back upstairs. Draining half the bottle with one large swig, Jim put it down on the bench near his toolbox and turned back to the recalcitrant pipe -- which, of course, fitted in smoothly this time.  
  
Tightening the joint with a wrench, Jim jerked to the side when he heard a small yelp of pain. Instantly, he was across the room and examining the small wound on her finger, apparently caused by the sharp awl she had been using. It didn't look deep or dangerous, so he merely grabbed a tissue and wrapped it tightly. "You should put some hydrogen peroxide on that, and a bandage," he said.  
  
She sighed. "Yes, yes. I think I'm done here anyway. Damn hands are too shaky. Here is wisdom, Jim; it's a bitch getting old."  
  
Jim smiled at her and patted her hand. "What are you working on, anyway?" he asked, looking down at the strangely shaped piece of wood on her table.  
  
"It's a bentbox," she replied. "I'm carving -- _supposed_ to be carving -- the relief on the outside. But this trembling in my fingers... I suppose it's the spirits' way of telling me to slow down."  
  
"You should get that checked, you know," Jim said sternly, as she turned away from her work table. He didn't like the way she limped all the time now, and she wore her glasses more often than not lately. Waving her hand in a dismissive manner, she walked over to the small first aid kit kept in the basement -- she had been amused at Jim's hearty approval of that -- and rummaged around in it for a bandage.  
  
"I'm just getting old, Jim," she said in reply to his comment. "I don't need a doctor to tell me that."  
  
"Stubborn old woman," Jim growled fondly, picking up his beer and finishing it. "You know there could be more to it than that."  
  
"I am twice your age, little boy, and I don't need you to mother me," she said sharply. Jim shook his head in disgust and gave up, for now, moving back to his wrenching.  
  
After a few moments, when he was done with the pipe wrench and was looking for the silicone caulk, something she had said made him think. "Grandmother," he said slowly, wiping the end of the caulk tube with a paper towel, "do you believe in ghosts?"  
  
She had retaken her seat -- a high stool at her workbench -- after bandaging her finger, and Jim could hear her turn at his question. After a moment's silence, where Jim refused to look at her, she spoke. "I suppose it depends on what your definition of ghost is," she said mildly. "I commune with the unseen at times, on the spirit plane, so I have to believe in them. But I don't think that's what you're referring to here."  
  
Carefully caulking around the joints of the pipes he had fitted, Jim hesitantly told her about the image of the woman he had seen in the mirror the night before. "Sandburg's brought out the big guns; he's got equipment all over the place, and he wants us to stake out the apartment tonight, to see if she shows up. I just wonder if I'm not going crazy." He sniffed, then pulled out a tissue to blow his nose.  
  
Looking up, he saw Grandmother's eyes on him. "I know it sounds pretty weird..." he began.  
  
She waved her hand. "I've heard stranger," she said.  
  
Jim looked down at the caulking gun in his hands. "With these senses, you know, it's hard sometimes to tell what's real and what's in my head. Sandburg's had me read up on sense memories, so I have a rough understanding of it, but when I come across a particular smell and then see or hear something that's just so _vivid_... I -- I just have to wonder."  
  
Grandmother frowned at him. "Jim, I wish I could help you," she said. "I can see how all this bothers you at times, and I feel bad that there's nothing I can do or say to make it better for you." She fell silent again, fiddling with the bandage around her finger. "I guess I would have to advise you to follow your heart. In this, especially, among all things. If ghosts exist -- and I'm skeptical about that but willing to be persuaded -- then they're probably around for a reason. Try to find out what it is, and listen to what your heart tells you." He looked up and their eyes met. "You might want to think about following your heart on other matters, as well," she added cryptically.  
  
Thoughtfully, mulling her words over, Jim put the caulking gun on the bench and twisted the valve to turn the water back on. He watched carefully for signs of leakage as the water heater began to fill up, but saw none. Satisfied with his work, he began to pack up his tools, still thinking over Grandmother's words and seeing Molly's face. A slam in the front of the house brought him back to himself and he grinned at a familiar voice. "Sandburg's here," he said to Grandmother. "Just in time to watch the water heater fill."  
  
Grandmother chuckled and looked toward the stairs, where the younger people could be heard approaching. "Jim!" Blair said as he came down the stairs. "Oh, man, tell me I'm not too late to help..."  
  
"Sorry, Chief, no can do," Jim replied, continuing to gather his tools and keeping a weather eye on the water heater.  
  
"Oh, you're done?" Violet asked. "Wow! That's great! When can I get a shower, Jim?"  
  
"Give it half an hour to stabilize," Jim said, "then you should be okay. What's the rush?"  
  
"I've got a date tonight," she answered with a slightly saucy grin.  
  
"Oh, yeah?" Blair asked, grinning right back. "And with whom, might we ask?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Blair..."  
  
"Now, now, we've got to protect your virtue here, Squawgirl," Blair said, his voice laughing. "Back me up here, Jim."  
  
"Oh no, Dr. Ruth," Jim replied, getting a kick out of their byplay. "You're on your own."  
  
"Humph," Violet humphed. "Well, if you _must_ know, it's Darryl Banks. Is that all right with you or would you care to chaperone?"  
  
"Oh ho!" Blair was actually chortling, and Jim grinned at Grandmother when he saw Violet's face redden. "You got to watch those cops -- well, okay, cop's sons -- there, my beauty, you never know what they're capable of!"  
  
"Yeah, like giving you noogies when you least expect it," Jim said, then snatched a laughing, wriggling Blair to prove his point.  
  


* * *

  
Naomi Sandburg was pretty sure her son was home -- his 'classic' was parked in its usual spot downstairs, and she thought she could see lights on in the loft. When her light tap didn't bring anyone to the door, she used her key and let herself in, poking her head inside first to make sure she wasn't interrupting anything. Blair sat at the dining room table, his back to the door, earphones on his head playing music she could hear from the doorway, typing like mad on his laptop.  
  
Grinning, she quietly closed the door behind her, put her luggage on the floor, and tiptoed across the hardwood floor. Apparently Blair hadn't read her emails and didn't know she was coming; it was a perfect way to surprise him.  
  
Reaching out, she wrapped her arms around Blair's neck and said gaily, "Sweetheart!"

end


End file.
